A Dream If There Ever Was One
by Jack of all Fandoms
Summary: While hunting an unusual unsub, Dr. Spencer Reid is accidentally transported into the future, landing right in the middle of Garrus Vakarian's investigation into similar murders. Garrus and Reid team up to catch the killer, who might Reid's only way home.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and Mass Effect are the properties of CBS and Bioware, respectively.

Brief A/N: This story was originally an attempt to conceive a better Criminal Minds spinoff than Suspect Behavior, and it somehow got away from me. Roughly a year and endless pages of planning later, here I am publishing my first chapter. Briefly for background, this story takes place in the beginning of the fourth season of Criminal Minds, and in 2181 in the Mass Effect universe, roughly a year-and-a-half prior to the events of the first Mass Effect game. I hope to maintain as much continuity as I can, but I'm sure I'll make some mistakes. I've rated it T for now, but please contact me if you feel this rating is inappropriate. Finally, thanks for your interest, and I hope that you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

_A Dream If There Ever Was One_

Chapter One

They had only taken this case as a favor to San Diego's D.A., an old friend of Hotch's from law school, but even Hotch was beginning to think that they shouldn't have bothered. In the thirty-six hours since they had arrived, the only thing the BAU had managed to find was a third body. There was no apparent connection between the victims, not gender, race, socio-economic status, occupation, age, nothing at all that could help to establish a proper victimology. The only consistent factor was cause of death, but even that didn't make any sense: each of the three victims had died from some sort of aneurysm, despite showing no previous warning signs.

It was hard to describe the atmosphere in the D.A.'s office, which was serving as a makeshift conference room, as anything other than defeated. Even the normally implacable Hotch had his head propped up on his elbows, staring down at the case files.

"Hotch, I think we might have to face the fact that there might not be a case after all," Morgan said, looking at his supervisor over cartons of Chinese food that were already seven hours cold.

"So, you're saying three completely healthy people dropped dead of an aneurysm in the same week?" Prentiss asked, now lounging across the armchair behind Morgan. "I don't buy it."

"San Diego's a big place. It isn't impossible."

"But, supposing there is a case," Rossi interrupted. "I think we should focus on how the unsub met these victims, as it might be the only connection we can make."

JJ stood up and walked over to the bulletin board, staring at the pictures of the victims for what seemed like the thousandth time that night.

First victim: Christanna Johnson, twenty-two, African-American, poised to be Stanford's valedictorian, and the reason the BAU had been called in. The Johnsons were personal friends of the D.A. She was found dead in a hotel she had rented for the weekend. However, she had told her parents that she was going to visit her aunt, Meredith Johnson. Meredith had no expectations of such a visit. And, of course, the video monitoring system at her hotel was down for maintenance, giving the BAU no leads as to her killer.

Second victim: Dennis Goldberg, sixteen, Caucasian, and a junior at SCPA. He was found dead in the home he and his mother, Karen Goldberg, shared two days after Christanna's death. Karen had been out of town for the weekend taking care of her father, who had fallen and broken his hip, leaving Dennis alone.

Third victim: Mellissa Parker, thirty-one, Caucasian, and a substitute teacher separated from her husband, Doug Parker. She was found earlier that day, but died only one day after Dennis. The last person to see her alive was a fellow teacher when school let out at three. However, her autopsy indicated that she had died sometime around one a.m.

None of the victims' residences showed any signs of forced entry, implying that the victims either know their attacker or he was attractive and confident enough to charm his way in. After talking extensively to each of the victims' families, the team came to the conclusion that their attacker must have been a recent acquaintance, which left them with the unenviable task of discovering how one person could come into contact with three unrelated people and gain their trust so quickly. Furthermore, all three of the victims tested positive for heroin in their autopsy tox screens, despite the fact that none of them had ever used the drug before.

"It seems to me like Dennis Goldberg is the odd man out, literally. Why kill him then switch back to women with Mellissa?" Prentiss asked.

"Maybe he tried to branch out with Dennis, found he didn't like it, and went back to women again? That would explain the shorter time between kills." JJ furrowed her brow, still staring at the pictures.

"That doesn't make sense," Morgan said, "If I'm the unsub, and I choose Christanna based on her gender, when I kill her, I get some kind of release. So, next time I kill, I'm gonna choose another woman. I'm not gonna switch to a man and risk losing that feeling. Besides, none of the victims were sexually assaulted ante- or post-mortem. These kills aren't sexual."

JJ's phone vibrated on the D.A.'s desk, causing everyone to sit up a little straighter in their chairs. She smiled sheepishly before excusing herself to take the call outside.  
>"So, essentially, we just need to find an unsub with no physical type, a virtually untraceable M.O., and an unidentifiable poison in a city of over one million people," Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.<p>

"We could revisit the crime scenes, or talk to the victims' families again; maybe they'll remember something," Prentiss suggested.

"Do you really think that would help?" Morgan asked. "Besides, they've already closed the crime scenes." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Sorry. It's just been a long day."

"I get it."

"So, that was the hotel," JJ said as she came back into the room, "and they can only get us three rooms. Because of the Con being in town, it was all they could get us on such short notice, so we're going to have to double up."

"Wait." Hotch stood up and walked over to the bulletin board. "What did you just say?"

"I said we're going to have to double up."

"No, you said the Con's in town."

"Yeah," Morgan said, "What about it?"

"That's the connection: Comic Con. It's the only thing that could have brought these three victims together. It would provide our unsub with a huge amount of potential victims."

"And not only in San Diego," Rossi said, catching on, "I think he works with the Con; that would explain why the killing only started a few days ago. If the unsub were a San Diego native, I doubt he would have just started killing now and escalated so quickly."

Hotch picked up the phone on the D.A.'s desk and quickly dialed Garcia.

"Hello, my lovelies, you're up late, or should I say early. I'm almost afraid to ask how many cups of coffee you've let Reid drink."

"Garcia, we think that our unsub is meeting his victims at Comic Con, so we need you to verify that Christanna Johnson, Dennis Goldberg, and Mellissa Parker attended the Con. Check credit card records and any video surveillance that could place them there," Hotch said.

"Okay; that's gonna take some time, though. I'll contact the Con first thing in the morning to get access to their cameras. Anything else?"

"Yeah. We need a list of everyone who travels with Comic Con; filter out anyone from the greater San Diego area," Rossi added.

"That, I can do no problem. Only thing is, that's still a ton of people. Anyone else I can weed out?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Okay, then. I'll get this back to you sooner than you can say, 'Penelope, you're a genius.' Au revoir."

Unfortunately, Dr. Spencer Reid had missed the breakthrough of the last twenty minutes, as he was currently passed out face down on the conference table in the center of the room. They had finished with their last case two days ago, but he had received a call that required him to leave for Las Vegas immediately. Twelve hours later, the BAU was called into San Diego, and Reid showed up with little interest in discussing his whereabouts. This job had gotten him used to extremely long hours, but forty-eight hours without sleep was pushing it. This hadn't escaped the notice of the rest of the team, but they were politely ignoring it.

The sound of the receiver clicking into the base jolted Reid awake, causing him to nearly fall out of his chair in his haste to sit up. Morgan had to stifle a laugh.

"Sorry." Reid rubbed his eyes and squinted under the florescent lighting of the office. "I'm sorry. What was…What time is it?"

"It's quarter of two," Prentiss said.

"Reid, maybe you should go back to the hotel," Hotch offered. "You should get some sleep."

"Oh, no. No, I'm fine, really. I just need more coffee."

"If eight cups isn't doing it," Morgan said, "I don't think nine's gonna make much of a difference."

"Maybe we should all call it a night," Rossi suggested. "It'll be a few hours before we have any new information, and we've been up long enough anyways."

"Come on, kid." Morgan clapped Reid on the shoulder. "I'll fill you in on the way over."

Reid underestimated his grogginess as he stood up, stumbling over his own feet. Morgan put a hand on his lower back to steady him.

"Can you walk? Or do you need me to carry you?" Morgan smirked.

Reid felt his face flush.

So, of course, it was no surprise when Reid ended up rooming with Morgan, because he knew there was someone out there determined to make his life miserable. Not that he wasn't friends with Morgan. Frankly, he considered Morgan to be his best friend, and he thought Morgan felt the same way. He couldn't remember when their relationship changed from friendly coworkers to confidants, but one night found them talking until seven in the morning about Morgan's father's death, Carl Buford, the abuse, Reid's childhood, Tobias Hankel, Dilaudid, the dark thoughts Reid had never told anyone before. They never talked about these things again, and, were it not for the small things, Reid might have thought that none of it had made any difference. But Morgan stopped dragging him to clubs only to ditch him for the first woman who looked his way. Instead, they went to dinners, the movies, bars, all one-on-one. Even when they went out with the team, Morgan focused all of his attention on Reid. But that was it. They were simply very, very close friends.

And that would be one thing, if it weren't for all the touching. There was always a hand on his shoulder, an arm at his back, hugs after a particularly difficult case, and he was constantly being tackled or shoved into walls whenever an unsub pulled a gun, despite the fact that Reid was fully capable of taking care of himself. Reid was fairly sure that friends didn't touch each other this much, but, then again, he'd never really had many friends. This just left Reid extremely confused whenever he was with Morgan, which was pretty much all the time. Coupling that with a dry spell that was far longer than Reid would ever like to admit, and Reid was about ready to go out of his mind.

So, he was thankful that tonight he was so exhausted that he could avoid dealing with any of this. As soon as they entered the hotel room, Reid dumped his bags on the floor, took off his shoes, and collapsed on the bed nearest to the door.

"You even gonna change?" Morgan asked, and Reid could tell he was smirking even though his eyes were closed.

"No," he said into his pillow before passing out.

* * *

><p>"Reid," a voice said very close to his right ear.<p>

Reid groaned and rolled over.

"Reid, wake up."

Reid opened his eyes to see Morgan's face about six inches from his own, but he was too tired to be alarmed.

"I don't want to."

"I just got a call from Hotch; they found a fourth body."

"What time is it?"

"Quarter of three."

Reid sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay. I'm awake."

Morgan was already starting to pack up his case files. "The victim's name is Ayano Matsushima. Her roommate found her twenty minutes ago in their apartment; so far the M.O. matches. Hotch and Rossi are interviewing the roommate, and they need us to go to the apartment and see if there's anything that could help."

Reid slid on his Converse and grabbed his messenger bag. "Alright. Let's go."

* * *

><p>"I knew I recognized the name," Reid said, picking up a picture of a petite Japanese woman from the end table by the front door.<p>

"What?" Morgan moved past him into the kitchen.

"Ayano Matsushima. She's pioneering new forms of social networking. Her website is essentially a matchmaking site for people looking to create projects based on similar interests."

"You know all this, but you still won't accept my friend request?"

"I read it in my CalTech newsletter." Reid moved into the living area. "Besides, I don't see the point of Facebook. Telling everyone what you're doing all the time: 'Spencer Reid found another dead woman today.' That's a great status update."

"Yeah, well, maybe if you did something besides work, you'd have something else to write about." Morgan pulled the trash can out from under the sink. "I've got a syringe here."

"Heroin?" Reid asked as he checked under the couch.

"Probably." Morgan slid on a latex glove. "It's sitting right on top."

"That doesn't sound like our unsub. He's far too meticulous to leave evidence lying around."

"Not if Ayano injected the heroin willingly and only her prints are on the needle." Morgan dug a bit more in the trash. "Everything else is pretty standard, except this." He held up a neon green strip of paper.

Reid popped his head out of Ayano's bedroom. "What's that?"

"It's a band from a club. Looks like Eternity. It's the same band Mellissa Parker was wearing when her body was found."

"Two of our victims visited the same club right before they died? That's more than we had before."

Reid opened the drawers to small dresser, but there wasn't anything besides clothing. Same with the closet. Nothing looked out of place; maybe they hadn't even reached the bedroom before Ayano died. He was about to rejoin Morgan in the kitchen when he saw something black poking out from underneath the bed.

"You find anything else?" Morgan called.

"I think so." Reid slid on a glove and picked up a black clutch. "It looks like she dropped her bag."

Morgan walked over to inspect Reid's find. "Anything in it?"

Reid unzipped the bag. "Nothing unusual. Cash, some credit cards, her license." He pulled out a silver bracelet. "And this."

"That's a medical alert bracelet, right?" Morgan asked as his phone buzzed in his pocket. "Hang on." He pulled it out to answer the call. "Morgan. Hey, Hotch, let me put you on speaker." Morgan pressed a button and held the phone out in front of them. "Alright. Got for it."

"We finished talking to the roommate, and the M.E. just faxed her report. Ayano Matsushima didn't die of an aneurysm."

"You're not thinking that this isn't our guy, are you?" Morgan asked.

"No," they heard Rossi's voice say, "It's definitely him. The M.E. found injection marks and heroin in the victim's blood stream. And her roommate was out of town visiting her boyfriend; exactly what our unsub is looking for."

"Then how did Ayano die?" Reid asked.

"Cardiac arrest," Hotch said.

"Did she have a heart condition? We found a medical alert bracelet in her purse," Reid explained.

"Yes, an arrhythmia that was exacerbated by the drugs. The heroin killed Ayano before our unsub had the chance," Rossi said.

"Okay; well, Reid and I will finish up here and let you know what we find." Morgan hung up the phone. "Great; another dead end."

"Not necessarily," Reid said, putting the clutch down on the bed and beginning to pace.

"Still no connection between the victims, still no evidence." Morgan looked up at Reid. "And can you stop that? You're making me anxious."

Reid stopped pacing and shot Morgan a look; he was already frustrated enough with him as it was. "I'm just trying to think."

"So, what do you got?"

"We keep saying there's no connection, but what if there is?"

"What do you-"

"Just hear me out," Reid interrupted. "Christanna was going to be valedictorian at Stanford and going to Harvard Medical School in the fall. Ayano graduated from CalTech-"

"So, they're both geniuses. But Dennis and Mellissa weren't."

"Well, not in the same way, no. But Dennis Goldberg was a junior at the San Diego School of Creative and Performing Arts. He's a pianist, and, based on the number of trophies we found in his room, a very good one." Reid rubbed his temples, trying to get his sleep-deprived brain to work faster. "And Mellissa…Mellissa's a painter. One of the teachers at the school she taught at said she thought Mellissa went to the gallery after school. She had an opening in three days. What do you want to bet that this was about to be Mellissa Parker's big break?"

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"Each of our victims was in some way extraordinary. So, yes, a genius."

"It's a good break, Reid." Morgan rubbed his hand over his eyes. "But I don't see how that's gonna get us any closer to our unsub."

"Unless…unless we bait him."

"'Bait him'?"

"Well, our unsub didn't kill Ayano tonight, and he's been escalating. He needs to find another victim and fast. What if we give him one?" Reid looked over to Morgan.

"No," Morgan said firmly.

"We know that Eternity's his preferred hunting ground. That's only ten minutes from here. It might be our only chance to get this guy."

"Absolutely not, Reid. And do you honestly think Hotch is gonna okay you for this?"

Reid crossed his arms. "Hotch doesn't have to know."

"Are you kidding me?" Morgan was almost shouting. "There's no way I'm gonna let you do this!"

"Well, frankly, Morgan, I'm not asking for your permission. Contrary to what you might think, I'm an adult, and I'm fully capable of making my own decisions!"

"Really? 'Cause that's not what I see." Morgan sighed. "What makes you think he could even find you?"

Reid shrugged. "Nothing; I guess. But if he does, I could get a name, maybe even make an arrest. If not, I spend an hour drinking alone at the bar."

"Please. Like you'd be alone." Morgan's tone of voice sobered, "We do this on one condition: you don't go after him without me backing you up."

"Got it."

* * *

><p>Five minutes in Eternity reminded Reid why he hated clubs. He really could never understand why people could willingly subject themselves to refurbished warehouses filled with stagnant air, irritating music so loud that you actually felt it, not to mention the inescapable masses of sweaty drunk people who always managed to bump into him no matter how hard he tried to avoid them. He ordered a drink and stood by the bar, trying very hard to appeal to a serial killer.<p>

He really had no idea why he had pushed Morgan so hard for this. Though it was true that it may be their only break, there was very little chance that this was going to help. But he needed the distraction, anything to keep his mind off of Morgan, his mother, the headaches.

After nearly forty-five minutes, Reid was ready to call it a night. Morgan was waiting for him outside, and it was almost four. That hour-long nap had done little to get rid of his exhaustion; it still felt as though his brain was clogged up with sludge.

"I've been watching you," a sultry voice said into his ear.

Reid wheeled around quickly, coming face-to-face with a beautiful blue woman.

"Don't look so alarmed. I model at the Con," the woman explained, keeping her face as close to Reid's as possible. "The paint's so difficult to wash off. But I think it's quite interesting, don't you?"

"It's certainly attention-grabbing."

"As are you." The woman smiled, tilting her head to the side. "But, I'm sure you already know that."

"I do?"

"You're different from anyone else in here. You're not taken by the…pleasures of the flesh. You've transcended humanity's baser nature. You're discerning." The woman slid her hand over Reid's arm.

"And you know all that just from watching me?" Reid asked, attempting to get the woman to give something away.

"I read people."

"Who are you?"

The woman chuckled. "Names aren't very fun. They make everything so…average. You and I, we're not average."

The buzzing in Reid's head had been steadily increasing throughout his conversation, and it was now so loud that he could hardly hear his own thoughts. Keeping track of the woman's statements and forming the proper responses was becoming impossible. The club was blurring in his peripheral vision, and even though he could feel the bass, he couldn't hear the music anymore. But he could still hear every word the woman said as if it were pounding inside his head.

The woman moved her hand up Reid's arm to play with the cuff of his rolled shirt-sleeve. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay," Reid heard himself say.

The woman smiled.

Reid closed his eyes momentarily to clear his head. Was there any chance that he'd been drugged? He hadn't touched his drink since he ordered it, so he couldn't understand what could possibly be affecting him this much. It was getting more and more difficult to think. He knew that he should get out of there – this woman was certainly the unsub, and she was certainly dangerous – but he needed her to incriminate herself. Otherwise, they'd never get this close to her again.

Or she'd kill him. One of the two.

When Reid reopened his eyes, he found the woman's face a mere four inches from his own. The strobe lights caught the angles of her face, and her eyes were an abyssal black, pulling him closer.

"Look into my eyes and tell me you want me. Tell me you'd kill for me. Anything I want."

Reid looked straight into her eyes, and smiled. "I don't think so."

* * *

><p>Morgan was pacing so fervently outside of the club that the bouncer was starting to look at him suspiciously. Morgan quickly flashed his credentials without breaking stride. It had been more than an hour, and Reid was still in there. He was really hoping the kid wasn't trying to play the hero; Morgan couldn't live with himself if anything happened to him.<p>

It was probably nothing; Reid was probably bored out of his mind, turning down everyone hitting on him, and wishing he could have brought some Proust novel to keep him company.

Morgan was so relieved when he felt his phone vibrate that he almost dropped it in his haste to answer it.

"Reid. You scared me, kid. I-"

"No time," Reid's voice sounded strained, like he was breathing hard. "F.B.I. Out of my way!" Reid shouted to the crowd. "Sorry. Our unsub's a woman. She's blue."

"Blue?"

"Yeah. It's paint. Not the point. She ran."

"I can tell. I'm calling for backup."

"We can't. We'll lose her." Reid stopped speaking for a moment, and Morgan could only hear Reid's breathing and the noises of the club. Suddenly, there was a loud bang.

"Reid? Talk to me, kid."

"Sorry; she knocked over a table. Oh, and, um, she may or may not have drugged me," Reid tried to say this last part quickly enough to get it past Morgan's notice.

"What?" Morgan nearly yelled, "Reid, you need to get out of there now."

Reid didn't respond.

"Dammit, Reid. Get your ass out of there now!"

There was a loud crash and a cry of pain that was unmistakably Reid's.

"Spencer!"

The line went dead.

* * *

><p>I apologize for the line breaks. I wanted to use spaces, but was letting me save it in the formatting I wanted to. If anyone knows how to circumvent this, I'd greatly appreciate it. Also, thank you for any reviews you choose to leave.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Do Not Own.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed my last chapter. I really didn't think I'd find any support for this fic. I apologize for the delay in this chapter, which I found extremely difficult to write. As it has such an obvious foregone conclusion based on the summary for the story, I struggled with writing this chapter in a way that was interesting, so I hope it won't disappoint too much. I have already begun work on Chapter 3, so hopefully it won't be as long until the next update. Thank you for reading!

A Dream If There Ever Was One

Chapter Two

The first thing Dr. Spencer Reid became aware of upon regaining consciousness was that his head was throbbing from the base of his skull all the way to the space behind his eyes. This was never a good way to start the morning.

He hadn't yet decided if he should open his eyes. Besides the pounding in his head, he was fairly comfortable. This really was a nice bed. And when had he changed into these pajamas? He couldn't even remember leaving the club last night.

The club.

Reid sat suddenly. Well, this wasn't good.

It was now abundantly clear that something was very, very wrong. For one thing, he could now clearly remember being thrown into a table by the unsub, which might explain his current headache. Then there was the business with the strange device and the glowing blue light emitting from her hands, but that probably wasn't ever going to make sense. The only other thing he could remember was reaching out to grab her ankle, and, well, waking up here.

And now that he was looking, here seemed to be some kind of small medical facility, probably a clinic, seeing as he was currently sitting in the only bed in the room. Besides the change in clothing, however, it didn't look as though much else had been done to him. The area next to his bed was filled with machines he didn't recognize, but he wasn't hooked up to any of them. Before he had a chance to examine any of them further, a door to his left slid open.

Reid looked up to see a petite red-haired woman in some sort of lab coat smiling cheerfully at him.

"Is Morgan out there? Um, my friend, I mean. He would have brought me in?"

The woman looked confused; maybe Morgan had already left to meet up with the team.

"Listen; I'm fine, really. So, if I could just, um, get my clothes back..." Reid tried to sit up, but the doctor pushed him back down, flashing a light in both his eyes, which was exactly what his headache didn't need.

"You don't have to…"

The doctor ignored his protests and presumably asked him some questions regarding his condition. Of course, he had no way of knowing for sure, as she was asking in rapid-fire French.

"I'm sorry. What?"

She repeated he question – still in French – as she busied herself with a console on the wall behind his bed.

"I still don't understand. I'm afraid I don't know French. Well, I man I can read it, but that's not – Anyway, is there any chance you speak English?"

She turned to look at him as though his problems extended much further than just a bump on the head.

Reid was growing more confused by the minute. Maybe he was actually crazy. Well, crazy was an inaccurate term, but there were several documented cases of malfunctions in the language center of the brain after head trauma. Some people woke up with bizarre accents or the inability to comprehend sarcasm. Maybe this hearing everyone in French was a yet unrecognized after-effect of brain injury. However, the prospect of being patient zero was not quite the scientific discovery he was looking to make.

But, there was the smallest possibility that he didn't have an unknown psychological disorder and that this doctor was actually speaking French. But that opened even more troubling doors: if this was real, where was he? How long had he been out? Certainly not long enough to be transported overseas or even to Canada, at least not that far east. And if Morgan hadn't gotten him out of the club, why wasn't he dead, or restrained, or given any indication that he'd even been kidnapped?

The door slid open again, and the doctor left Reid's side to speak to the new arrival. From his position, he could only see the red-haired doctor using some sort of handheld device to show data to her companion. But when he responded, it was not in the French Reid was expecting to hear; all he heard was a low rumbling coupled with a series of clicks. And the doctor laughed, as though whoever was there had actually said something intelligible.

Reid sat up and climbed out of the bed as quietly as he could, overcome by the need to fully witness just what was happening right now.

And that's when he knew he was definitely dreaming or insane, because nothing else explained why the doctor was calmly conversing with a six-foot-tall bird…reptile…thing.

What the hell was going on?

The creature turned its head quickly, stopping to fix his gaze on Reid with pinpoint precision, giving Reid the perfect chance to better examine the mandibles that framed a mouth of razor-sharp teeth.

Reid only realized he was backing up when his back hit the wall. Never in his life had he felt more cornered: no gun, nowhere to go, and It was approaching, reaching out with its three talons, probably preparing to rip his throat out.

When he opened his eyes again, Reid realized that not only was he not dead, but the creature was still two feet away and was looking what Reid could only describe as concern. It once again tried to communicate before being interrupted by the doctor, who was gesturing to her forearm. The creature seemed to agree before snapping his head back to Reid and bringing up a bright orange hologram over his right arm. He gestured to it before gesturing to Reid's own forearm. Reid shook his head, and the creature spoke once again to the doctor. After a brief search in a cabinet, she seemed to bring the creature what it was looking for.

It held out a hand again, holding up what looked like a metal bracelet and once again gestured to Reid's forearm. Understanding, Reid provided his wrist and allowed It to fasten the device and activate the hologram.

"Well, that's better, now, isn't it?" A distinctly human voice asked. "How did you manage to get through the Wards without an omni-tool?"

"Without a what?" Reid's mind was reeling from trying to process yet another bizarre twist to reality.

"Garrus," the doctor addressed the creature, "I need to finish my examination. Then you can question him as much as you want."

"Question me?"

"First things first. Would you mind sitting back down on the bed?" The doctor brought up some kind of scanner on her hologram…omni-tool. "My name's Dr. Michel, by the way. I'm guessing you didn't catch it the first time."

"Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Well, Dr. Reid. It looks like you didn't sustain any trauma. Is there anything else that's bothering you?"

"Just a migraine, but it's nothing, really."

By the time he was finished speaking, Dr. Michel had already returned with a small packet in her hand. She tore it open and applied the gel inside directly to his temples, and Reid was surprised to find himself feeling instantly better.

"That's amazing." Reid touched the gel on his forehead. "Thank you."

"It's just medi-gel." She smiled up at him.

"Are you finished, Dr. Michel? I really need to get back to my more important cases." The creature (Garrus did she say?) was now leaning against the column that helped divide the clinic from the waiting area.

"Garrus, I had no idea you were so grumpy in the morning." Dr. Michel turned back to Reid, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Don't worry; his bark's worse than his bite." She seemed to reconsider. "Well, not literally." She laughed, but Reid didn't find it particularly funny. "I'll be in my office if you need me."

Dr. Michel smiled at him one last time before leaving him alone with Garrus.

"Dr. Reid, you said?" Garrus asked while opening a display on his omni-tool.

Reid nodded.

"Dr. Reid, I'm Inspector Garrus Vakarian, and I need to ask you a few questions about last night."

"I'll do what I can," Reid offered, though he was pretty sure that was going to be next to nothing.

"Could you tell me, then, how you ended up laying in an alley wearing two million credits worth of forged antiques?"

"What?" Reid felt like a broken record at this point.

Garrus sighed and sat down on the low dividing wall. "Your clothes? And personal effects? You can play dumb all you want, but they're clearly illegal forgeries. No collector or museum has reported a break-in, and they don't have a watermark required of replicas. So just tell me who you're working for, and we can both get on with our day."

And there was that bone-chilling, niggling fear/possible revelation again. Reid was starting to hate those.

"Could I maybe…see them? The antiques, I mean."

Garrus narrowed his eyes, but complied, pulling the evidence bag from the cabinet from the cart near Reid's bed. He opened it up and revealed what Reid had been dreading: his bag, and the clothes he had been wearing last night.

"Where am I?" Reid asked hesitantly.

"You're in Dr. Chloe Michel's med clinic. In the Wards."

"Okay. And that is…?"

"On the Citadel." Garrus was giving him that same wary look that Dr. Michel had given him not fifteen mintues before.

"And where is that…exactly?"

"In the Serpent Nebula? I don't understand why you're asking me this."

There was just one more question to ask:

"And, it, um, doesn't happen to be 2007 by any chance?"

"It's 2181."

And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.

"Okay. Well, this is going to sound completely insane, but, well, here goes: I am agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation…on Earth. But when I sustained my head injury, it was the year 2007. So.."

He looked up at Garrus, trying to gauge his reaction, but he wasn't exactly easy to read. He tried to hold his gaze, anything that might encourage the detective to believe him. For a moment, they sat there, staring at each other, and Reid realized how uncomfortable it was to be on the other side of an interrogation.

And when the silent tension between them finally peaked, Garrus burst out laughing as though Reid had just told him the first joke he'd ever heard. "I'm sorry. I've been up for more than a day at this point: everything seems pretty ridiculous right now. But I just can't believe that you are actually claiming to be a time traveller to beat a forgery rap. I have to tell you, you're good. You almost had me convinced that you believe it."

"I think it's because I do."

"Come on," Garrus said, "you can drop the act now. It's not even like I could book you on anything. Being in possession of a forgery isn't even a felony without intent to distribute. I was counting on you being dumb enough to incriminate yourself."

Reid was too distraught to take offense to the slight at his intelligence. "You have to believe me."

Garrus stood up and closed the holographic overlay of his omni-tool. "What I have to do is get some sleep. It was…interesting to meet you, Spencer Reid."

He moved to leave, but Reid quickly blocked his path. "Wait, please." He took a steadying breath. "I know that you have absolutely no reason to believe me or even to think that I'm remotely sane, but I really don't have any other options. Maybe you could just look at my belongings…or something. There's got to be something I can show you." Reid was trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

Garrus's face was impassive, and Reid felt himself deflate.

"You're right, this isn't your problem." Reid went back to the bed to grab the evidence bag.

Garrus sighed. "I can't promise this is gonna prove anything. I'm no expert."

Reid hastily overturned the bag and let its contents spill out over the bed.

"Well, how about my ID badge from the Bureau?" Reid pulled the card out of its protective sleeve and handed it to Garrus. "I mean, that's a terrible picture, but it's clearly me. And it has the year right on it."

"And anyone with a basic knowledge of computers could have made it."

"Okay." Reid started rummaging through his messenger bag for anything that might be proof enough for Garrus. License? No, that was too close to the ID badge. What about money? Did they have paper money in the future?

He was just about to ask, when he noticed that something else had caught Garrus's attention.

Garrus was holding his revolver and was staring at it with such fervent amazement that Reid felt rude interrupting.

"This is a Smith & Wesson revolver, right?" Garrus asked, never taking his eyes off the gun.

"Yes, it's a-"

".38 caliber. I've seen one before."

"They still make them?" Reid asked.

"No, they fell out of production after the discovery of mass effect fields made them obsolete. But, I used to see one all the time when I was a kid. When I would come to see my father at C-Sec, he would always take me to this old weapons museum, and I always went straight for the human antiquities. They had this 1943 Smith & Wesson Victory Model that was actually used in your Second World War. And the idea really got me, you know? The thought of something so small being a part of something so grand, and the thought that maybe some wars were worth fighting." Garrus smiled sheepishly. "But, maybe I'm over-simplifying. Anyways, I was there so much that the curator let me hold it one time. He died a while back and they sold off the whole collection. I actually tried to track it down." He shook his head. "Yours must be a newer model, but I'd recognize one anywhere. And seeing as it has no signs of age…I mean, I can't say 2007, for sure, but…" Garrus looked up at Reid. "Shit."

"I know."

"I mean, this is – this is actually crazy."

"To be honest," Reid said, "I don't think I've actually processed it yet."

"A time traveller." Garrus sat down on the bed, still staring at him, mouth agape.

"You've never met one?"

Garrus chuckled. "Definitely not."

"Well," Reid began packing his things back into his messenger bag. "Now that that's sorted out, you can just take me to the nearest time machine and send me back."

"Actually, I can't."

Reid shrugged. "Why not? I'm sure it can't be that far."

"I can't because time travel hasn't been invented yet."

"I'm sorry. What?"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: So….remember when I said it would never take more than a month to update again?...I'm sorry. I had a lot of issues with this chapter again, mainly due to the fact that Reid's proving that he's from the past comes off as…very convenient. But, as that is not a priority for the story; I just needed to get it out of the way without wasting too much time on it. So I apologize for that. That's the bad news. The good news is that this is the last of the exposition chapters! Thanks for sticking with me through all this crap!

A Dream If There Ever Was One

Chapter Three

_"I'm sorry. What?"_

"Time travel? It doesn't exist."

"Oh. Okay."

"You're taking this rather well."

"So I am. I'm pretty sure I'm still in shock. It's been a stressful morning."

"Do you need to sit down or something? You don't look too good."

"I'm just a little dizzy. I'm sure I'll be fine in a min-"

* * *

><p>Reid opened his eyes to see Garrus staring intently at him with those jet-black eyes. He was never going to get used to that. Did he even blink? That was just creepy.<p>

"What just happened?" He asked as he sat up in the bed he was now sprawled across.

"You, uh, passed out."

"Well, that's embarrassing."

And then it all came rushing back to him…again. No time travel. No way back home.

"Do you have a paper and pen or maybe a whiteboard?" He jumped off the bed, beginning to pace. "Do you even have paper in the future?"

"Um, sure we do, but-"

Reid's mind was finally starting to work at its normal speed. "If we can just understand the nature of this particular space-time continuum and the means by which I was able to access it, we can figure out how I did so and reverse-engineer the process, so I can get back…if that's even possible. I mean, Einstein theorized about the possibility of time traveling into the future, but retrograde time travel seems entirely impossible based on what we know about the laws of conservation of mass-energy. Unless those have changed. Have they? Changed, I mean? No, that's-"

"Impossible?" Garrus asked, following Reid's pacing with his eyes. "Spencer, I think you need to calm down."

Reid wheeled on him. "Calm down? I just woke up two hundred years in the future, in an entirely different galaxy, and, oh, yeah, aliens exist; I think I'm well within my rights to freak out."

"So, I take it you're no longer in shock…"

Reid continued muttering to himself, running as many calculations as he could think of in his head.

"This is going to be fun," Garrus said under his breath.

Reid glared at him. "Well, excuse me for ruining _your_ morning, Inspector Vakarian." He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm not handling myself very well right now."

"Understandably. What can I do right now that would help you? I mean, I don't know anything about time travel, but-"

"Could you give me a full background of the past two hundred years, specifically any important scientific advancements that might be pertinent? Oh, and I'd love to know the position and history of humanity in the galactic political arena, although I suppose that's a bit superfluous."

"Um, I-"

"You're right; that would take way too long. Do you have books?"

"Books?"

"Yeah. It'll be a lot faster." Reid caught Garrus's confused expression. "I read 20,000 words a minute…I guess I'm kind of a genius?" Reid shrugged.

"Kind of?"

"I mean, I'm certifiably a genius and have an I.Q. of 187, but announcing it doesn't seem to endear me to many people," Reid said, fidgeting intently with the omni-tool band on his arm.

"You can download anything you want onto that." Garrus nodded to Reid's omni-tool. "Anything in the archives or the public records. That should tell you everything you want to know. Here, let me show you."

Reid knew that he shouldn't be feeling as excited as he did, but a little part of him couldn't dream of anything better than exploring the archives from the future. It was only natural to be curious.

"And you can input search criteria over here, and this button will take you back to the menu screen." Garrus stood up and glanced at the door. "Are you gonna be alright for a little bit? It's just…I need to talk to my superior. I'm not exactly sure what we do next, in case the whole reverse-engineering doesn't work out."

"Hm?" Reid didn't look up from his reading. "Oh. Yeah, I'll be fine."

* * *

><p>"Time travel? Are you serious, Garrus?" a new voice asked as the clinic door slid open. "You could have told me before I came all the way down here."<p>

Reid looked up to see Garrus accompanied by another alien – no they were called turians, and they weren't even only alien race humanity had encountered.

"I'm sorry, Executor, but if I had, you wouldn't have come at all."

"You're right about that. This is a colossal waste of my time." He snapped his eyes over to Reid with avian precision and Reid hurried to look as though he were absorbed in his reading. But how was he supposed to abstain from eavesdropping if they were going to have this conversation five feet from him.

"I believe him," Garrus blurted out. "I know it's crazy, but I do."

The other turian sighed and put a hand Garrus's shoulder. "Garrus, I know I've been working you pretty hard lately. What with the Ardat-Yakshi case, you haven't had a break in two months. I know that. And you've been working even harder now that she's dropped off our radar. I just can't have you fall apart on me right now. Why don't you take the rest of the day off and get some sleep?"

"I'm not falling apart, Pallin, and I'm not having some sleep-deprived delusion either. I told you I had proof-"

"A gun you saw twenty years ago that you couldn't even track down if you wanted to?"

"I know what I saw." Garrus folded his arms against his chest.

"Even if it were true, you know it isn't enough to compel an investigation. I need to get back to headquarters. Go home, Garrus."

As the door slid open once more, Garrus asked, "What I had more proof?"

Executor Pallin stopped and turned around slowly in the doorway. "I don't think his testimony," he shot another glance at Reid, "is going to convince me."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then, what?" Time travel isn't real. I'm done-"

"I know an antiques dealer, a volus, who specializes in human artifacts. He's helped me out on a few cases in the past. He could say definitively if his belongings are the real thing."

Executor Pallin sighed again. "You aren't going to drop this until I say yes, are you?"

"No, sir."

Even though Reid couldn't see his face, he just knew he was smirking.

"You're a stubborn son of a bitch, Vakarian."

"I thought that's why you promoted me."

Executor Pallin laughed. "Well, get that volus over here. I mean, this can't get any more ridiculous."

"Just give me a minute," Garrus said, pulling up a holographic menu on his omni-tool.

Executor Pallin looked back over at Reid, who waved sheepishly.

The next fifteen minutes were excruciating. Executor Pallin seemed to be thinking twice about his decision to stay, and subsequently spent the entire time glaring at either the door or the clock. Garrus was silently fidgeting with a tool on a nearby table, consciously not looking at the Executor. Reid was pretending to be fascinated by the public record he was reading.

Just as Reid was about to offer a statistic on awkward silences, the door slid open, and a tiny creature fully-encased in metal was clasping the frame, completely out of breath.

"Inspector Vakarian," he said, trying to remain upright. "As soon as I got your message, I ran all the way from the Presidium. Those elevators can be so slow. Someone should really do something about that that. Anyways, you said you had human artifacts."

"Well, sort of. Ponra, I want you to meet Dr. Spencer Reid."

"How rude of me!" Ponra bustled over to shake Reid's hand. "I should have introduced myself the minute I came in. Ponra Caan, best antiques dealer and most eminent scholar of human antiquities on the Citadel, if I do say so myself."

Reid smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Caan."

"Please, call me Ponra. So, did you dig up these artifacts yourself? You're a doctor, correct?"

"I'm not that kind of doctor." Reid looked to Pallin and Garrus over Ponra's head, wondering how much he should reveal. "Let's just say…they've been in my family for a very long time."

"Well, don't mean to be rude, but why are we standing here talking when I could be looking at them?"

"Right." Reid poured the contents of his bag out on the bed once more.

Ponra looked at Reid's belongings with the kind of glee that Reis reserved solely for his first cup of coffee in the morning.

"You weren't kidding, Garrus," Ponra said without turning around, twirling a pen between his mechanized fingers. "These are incredible."

"But are they real?" Executor Pallin asked.

"In due time, sir, in due time. But I can already tell they're very peculiar."

"In what way?" Reid asked with feigned confusion.

"For one thing, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, Dr. Reid, but you've been scammed."

"Scammed?"

"There's absolutely no way that these items are as old as you say." He held up one of Reid's notebooks and showed them the crisp white pages. "You see, there's no yellowing, none of the ink has faded. I'd say this is no more than a week old."

Well, Reid thought, it wasn't.

"So, you're saying it's a forgery?" Executor Pallin asked with some derision.

"If it is, it's a very good one, Executor. Take this pencil, for instance." He held it up for Pallin's examination. "A forger wouldn't have used graphite for the tip. It only needs to be authentic enough to pass off to tourists or amateur collectors; he wouldn't waste the time to get all of the details right. I think we're looking at extremely well-made, legal replicas."

"Replicas?" Reid tried to keep the concern from creeping into his voice. What was he going to do if they didn't believe him?"

"I'm afraid so." Ponra began stacking Reid's books on the left side of the bed, uncovering his wallet in the process. "What's this?" he asked, picking it up with fascination. "Is this…" He flipped it over and over, opening it and staring at it like it were the most amazing this he'd ever seen. "Inspector Vakarian, what sort of game are you playing with me?"

"What do you mean?" Garrus asked, coming over to examine the wallet.

"I know, my driver's liscense photo is atrocious," Reid joked, almost out of reflex.

"The detail is incredible! Look at the stitching on the inside seam. But, there's no signature."

"Signature?" Reid asked.

"Every artist has one. Work this authentic would certainly be signed…" Ponra began hurriedly emptying the contents of Reid's wallet onto the bed before shoving it into Garrus's face. "What does this smell like to you?"

"What?" Garrus asked, trying to pull away, but Ponra was too persistent.

"Please, just smell it, Inspector Vakarian."

Garrus sniffed, but looked up in confusion. "I don't know."

"Dr. Reid, could you please inform the officers what this smells like?" Ponra wheeled about dramatically.

"Leather? I don't-"

"Leather!" Ponra exclaimed. "I knew it from the minute I touched it. The texture is unmistakable." Ponra's eyes narrowed. "The question is, how do you know that?"

"What do you mean? It's just leather. I don't understand what the big deal about that is."

"The 'big deal' is that the only people who craft wallets anymore use synthetic leather, believe me: I know them all personally. In order for this to be real leather, it would have to be over one hundred years old, but it's in too good of a condition for that…" Ponra looked Reid right in the eye. "Where did you get this, Dr. Reid?"

Reid took a deep breath, looking to Garrus for support.

Garrus gave him an encouraging nod.

"Earth…roughly two hundred years ago."

"Ha! I knew it!"

"Are you saying that you believe him, Mr. Caan?" Executor Pallin asked with some amount of skepticism. "Just like that?"

"Firstly, it's Ponra. Second, of course I do. There's no other explanation."

"And there isn't any chance that there may be some replicator out there that you don't know of who uses real leather?"

Garrus shot Pallin a look.

"I'm just covering our bases." Pallin shrugged.

"If you'll excuse my saying so," Ponra began without looking up from the wallet, "I knew they were real the minute I saw them. I am an expert, after all."

"Time travel was really the first thing you thought of?" Reid caught Pallin's eye and quickly added. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Certainly not!" Ponra laughed. "I'm not crazy. But when you think about it, it's the only explanation that makes any kind of sense." He nudged Reid in the stomach. "I just wanted to get you to admit it. Now, if you don't mind, I'd love to get a good look at these without all of you scrutinizing me, eh?"

"Oh, sure; let me just get out of you way." Reid reluctantly moved toward Executor Pallin.

"Are you convinced now, Executor Pallin?" Reid asked, trying to give him the most encouraging smile possible.

"Maybe." Pallin shook his head. "Well, as much as you can believe someone as…eccentric as Mr. Caan. But, why not?"

"We need to bring him to the Council," Garrus said.

"I don't think the Council has time for this."

"You don't think the Council would want to meet the only person who has ever time traveled?"

"Well, that's only if they take our – and his-" he indicated Ponra, "word for it."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Ponra said, betraying his obvious eavesdropping, "Tevos and I go way back."

"You know Councillor Tevos?" Executor Pallin asked with some incredulity.

"Quite well, in fact. We used to go out before you all were even born…well, not you, Dr. Reid." Ponra laughed through his breathing apparatus.

"So, you're saying that I should call them up and tell them that I have proof that we've met our first time traveler?" Executor Pallin asked.

"Um, essentially?" Reid replied, realizing how ridiculous that actually sounded.

"Okay." Executor Pallin made to exit. "I really can't believe this is happening, but I'll come back when I know something."

After he had left, Reid turned to Garrus. "Do you think this is going to work? Getting an audience with the Council, I mean. And, even if we do see them, there isn't exactly anything they can do for me, is there?"

"Let's worry about one think at a time, okay? Like, maybe getting you dressed?"

Reid looked down at his grey sweatsuit. "Oh, right. Ponra, is there any chance I could have my pants back now?"

"Hmm?" Ponra turned around, flipping through pages of Reid's journal. "I suppose I have taken up too much of your time already. Please do let me know when you meet with the Council; I'd like to help however I can."

"We appreciate that," Garrus answered for the both of them.

"Well, it truly has been a pleasure, Dr. Reid," Ponra extended his hand to shake Reid's again, but looked up in surprise when Reid placed his wallet in it instead.

"I think you should have it," Reid said. "It seems like it means a lot more to you than it does to me."

Ponra stared at him in amazement. "I don't know what to say. I-"

Reid smiled. "Hey, if everything goes well with the Council, I can buy a new one tomorrow…so to speak."

"Thank you! Thank – I need to get back to my lab to study this – if you ever need anything else!" Ponra was hurrying to the door. "See you later, Inspector Vakarian,"

"That was nice of you," Garrus said after the door slid shut again.

Reid shrugged. "If I'm here, I don't really need it, do I?" He collected the strewn articles of clothing from the bed. "Um, Garrus? I need to change…"

"Oh! Yeah…I'll be right outside."

* * *

><p>After changing, Reid sat down on the dividing wall not sure if he was ready to let Garrus back in again. Even a genius needed time to process.<p>

The thing was, Reid didn't do helpless very well. He supposed that was a genius trait; he was very much in the habit of solving his own problems. But now, he was waiting at the mercy of some intergalactic government who would likely be of as little help to him as Garrus or Executor Pallin. And then what? Spend the rest of his life trying to replicate whatever freak accident sent him here? There had to be a better way.

What Reid really needed was a goal; something he could focus on that he could accomplish. One thing at a time; Garrus was right about that.

Unfortunately, he had never been much good at that either.

"Um, Spencer?" Garrus asked through the door. "It's been over ten minutes. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

Garrus re-entered the clinic and joined him in sitting on dividing wall. "I don't envy you right now."

"I don't envy myself either," Reid said, trying to make a joke, but not quite feeling it.

Garrus looked like he was going to say something else, but thought better of it. They both fell silent for a few minutes.

"So," Garrus said finally, "tell me about yourself."

"What?" Reid stopped fidgeting with his watch to look up at Garrus.

"Well, other than your being a doctor, I don't know anything about you."

"Oh, I'm not that kind of doctor, either," Reid explained. "I have three ."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"So, you weren't kidding about being a genius?" Garrus chuckled. "What do you do for a living then, Dr. Reid?"

"I catch serial killers, actually."

"You're in law enforcement, too?"

"Not exactly. I work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the F.B.I. Oh…the F.B.I. probably doesn't exist anymore," he said, looking down again.

"Serial killers, huh?" Garrus said, trying to change the subject. "Maybe you could help me with one of my cases."

"Oh, yeah?" Reid asked. "What kind of serial killers do they have in the future?"

"Just your usual crime bosses, deranged elcor, krogan. But this one's a bit tricky. The killer's an Ardat-Yakshi; that's all we know."

"An Ardat-Yakshi? Is that an…alien? I didn't read anything about them."

Garrus laughed. "You can say 'alien', Spencer. You're not gonna offend anyone. But, yeah; an Ardat-Yakshi's an asari, but mutated. The asari don't like to mention them much."

"Why not?"

"Because their gene mutation causes them to kill everyone they meld with - like sex with more psychic-ness – and they're addicted to it. That's what makes them so difficult to catch. They kill by overloading their partner's nervous system, so they're virtually untraceable. Besides that, it's impossible to know-"

But Reid's mind was already racing. An asari and overloaded nervous systems. There was no way…But, if there were, he hadn't even considered that he wasn't the only one time-traveling.

"I think I met her."

"What? Here on the Citadel?"

"No," Reid said, gaining momentum, "On Earth, in 2007. My team and I were hunting a serial killer who killed by causing aneurysms in her victims. I tried to play the bait, but I ended up meeting this strange blue woman who tried to drug me, or use mind powers to get me to go home with her."

Garrus's face was one of absolute shock. "You resisted her?"

"Yeah." Reid shrugged. "But that's not the point. I chased her into this backroom and she knocked me over. Then she pulled out a small device and used her, what are they called? Biotics? Yeah, she used her biotics on it. I didn't know what it was at the time. But I grabbed onto her, and then I woke up here." Reid waited for Garrus to catch on.

"Are you saying she had a time travel device?"

"What other explanation could there be for your serial killer being in my time and my ending up here? It's a little too much of a coincidence. At the very least, she may be the one person in the galaxy who knows how I can get home."

Garrus grinned, beginning to type some things on his omni-tool. "It's only been a few hours; she must still be on the Citadel. Pallin is just going to love this."

So, all they had to do was track down the most dangerous serial killer the Citadel had seen in years and hope she would be cooperative enough to help them out…

Well, at least it was a start.


End file.
